


If Only

by onionstories



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, King Mettaton, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 10:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5452697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onionstories/pseuds/onionstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the new King had to do was find his old friend, and apologize to her for all that he's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only

**Author's Note:**

> me, 2 hours ago: OH BOY 3 AM *starts writing*
> 
> its 5 am god help me

The Underground has never seemed so devoid of life before.

Only when the newly-crowned king had to make his rounds around the entirety of the Underground and assess the damage, did he truly realize how utterly _empty_ it seemed now. The once-calming caverns of Waterfall were now tarnished with dust wherever he stepped; as a sort of memorial, he scattered some echo flower seeds on top of them. As nobody could find out who’s dust it was, the tradition would be unable to carry on, at least regarding the victims of the massacre. Snowdin was no better, grey patches dotting the pristine white landscape, here, the robot only overturned the snow so the dust was not visible, unable to plant anything due to the cold. In the Ruins, it was the toughest, as there was no dirt to plant anything, and nothing to cover the dust with. Mettaton was forced to resort to scooping up the dust with his gloved hands and spreading them over various flowerbeds and leaf piles. As he walked out of the Ruins, laying a few golden flowers on the spot Toriel was killed, out of respect for the late, former Queen, he shivered at the biting cold of Snowdin, tugging off his soiled, dusty gloves and letting them fall to the ground. He nearly sighed in relief when he saw the Riverperson and their boat, before he recalled that he was King now, and expected to carry himself with a sense of formality. He should not be hunched over, rubbing his arms, he should be standing tall and regal, his very presence able to strike hope in any citizen that saw him, with how confidently he performed every action. He should not sigh in relief, he should be happy that the boat was waiting, nothing more, and nothing less.

He did not even need to tell them his destination, as they recognized him as the new King, from the last time they brought them all over the underground, temporarily becoming his water-based limo service. He allowed himself to sink into the seat of the boat a little, as nobody would see, taking off their crown for the trip. It was certainly a heavy thing, adorned with crystals and made of melted gold, it putting so much weight on his head that he felt like angrily shoving it off and throwing it across whatever room he was in. Mettaton carefully held the crown in his arms, as to make sure it would not fall. He liked it plenty, sure, but he felt as if it would have looked much nicer if his hear friend Alphys designed it.

Ah, right. Alphys.

He felt something clench right where his heart was as he thought of her. He recalled that lately, all he had been doing was talking to her about EX, then leaving for his shows, paying her the least amount of attention possible, not even committing himself to doing the _one thing_ she asked of him. Pretend to pose a threat to the human while she saved them from his dangers. She designed him a body, made him corporeal, was the very _reason_ his long-time dream was able to be fulfilled, and was the reason he was able to move again after the destruction in his boss battle. And the only way he repaid her was by paying her less and less attention as time went on.

He really was a horrible friend.

 _‘No,’_ he reminded himself. _‘If you don’t act like you have hope, the Underground won’t believe you have hope! No, you weren’t a horrible friend, you were simply not the greatest, all you have to do is find her and apologize.’_ Mettaton ran that mantra through his head over and over again, until the Riverperson stopped the boat at Hotland and bid him farewell once he got off, going away with one of their little _‘tra la la’s._

He stood at the entrance of the lab, Alphys’s lab. It loomed over him, intimidating. He placed his crown back on his head and walked around, calling Alphys’s name. He checked everywhere he could think of, from her bed to the out-of-the-way places she always went when she was upset.

But nobody came.

The King was about to give up. Give up and go back to his new home, as he was out of ideas for where to look for her, at least for the time being. Chiding himself for not knowing enough about his friend, he started towards the exit. But once he took one step forward, he noticed.

The door she usually keeps shut was wide open.

Mettaton walked towards it, curious. Alphys not only kept it closed, but took great care into making sure he never tried to open it, as if there was something horrible on the other side. But now, now it was open, for Mettaton to see. He stepped into the dark room, confident that he would find her. He would find her, and apologize for leaving her, for using her for the construction of his body, for _everything._ Then, he would appoint her his Royal Adviser; having her help with some of the decisions of monarchy. Only some, of course. He was, after all, Mettaton. He could handle most of the work.

As his eye adjusted to the darkness, he saw that the closely guarded room was not really a room, but an elevator, with only two buttons; ‘down’ and ‘up.’ He pressed one and waited, the anticipation building up. He needed to find Alphys, and ask her about this room. They could catch up about it after his heartfelt apology was poured out and he brought her to his new home, possibly had someone provide her with a snack, and they’d talk about the things they could never talk about, due to Mettaton’s avoidance.

The elevator signified its stop with a _‘ding!,’_ snapping Mettaton out of his thoughts. He stepped out, looking around at the dark, damp place, a place he could only describe as a second lab, one far more sinister than its counterpart on the surface. He walked down the long, narrow hallway, the only sound being his heels clacking against the tiled floor, paying no mind to the screens that lit up with green text. He could worry about those later, once Alphys has been found. He needed to make sure that human didn’t get to her, too. They had only spared him because they so pleased, and they made sure he knew that. She wouldn’t stand a chance against them.

Before he knew it, he came to the end of the hallway. To the right of him, another hallway. To the left, yet another. Directly in front of him, a large door, cracked open. Those other corridors could wait; he needed to complete his duty. Do what he came there to do. He took a step forward. Then another. And another. He pushed the door open further, refusing to acknowledge that his hand was trembling. To his relief, he saw a short, hunched-over figure, making quiet, distressed noises.

“Alphys…?” he called, prompting the figure to emit a choked, distressed wail.

“Alphys, darling, it’s…” the King prepared himself. “It’s me. Your old friend, Mettaton.”

The figure let out a scared whimper, inching closer to whatever it was hunched over. Mettaton sighed, and took few steps forward.

“Don’t… don’t be like that… I came to apologize!!” He smiled and walked closer, trying not to let his nervousness show. “I know I wasn’t the best person to you, and I want to…”

_Wait._

“…make it up….”

That _thing_ wasn’t Alphys.

“to…. you…..”

The blob of melted monsters turned to look at the petrified King, who was staring at it with eye wide and mouth hanging slightly open. Every cell in his body told him to run away, blast it, something other than just standing there!!

But he did nothing, letting the little creature drag itself out of the room. Mettaton felt a pang of sympathy for it, but pushed it aside, kneeling down to inspect the item it was so transfixed by.

A letter.

He picked it up, absentmindedly shaking dust off it, and began to read.

_“To anyone who finds this:_

_I’m sorry. I’ve made a horrible mistake, and I couldn’t live with what I’ve done. I created these things, they’re all my fault. I can’t bear to look at them anymore, I just can’t. I can’t live with this secret for any longer, it’s eating me up inside, knowing that nobody knows what I’ve done. How they like me only because I hide this. I know this is the coward’s way out, but I have no other options. Uh, just… whoever finds this… take care of them. The, uh, amalgamates. They deserve it. And this wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was mine. It was always mine. I’m sorry. But I doubt anyone will care._

_-Alphys”_

When had Mettaton sunk to his knees? When had he started crying? This is no way for a King to act, he mentally chided himself. He broke into a smile, a smile that turned into a weak giggle, then into a broken laugh, tears cascading down his face as he clutched the letter close to him as if it were his lifeline, laughing at the preventability of it all. He knew, of course he knew. He always knew, he just told himself, _‘she won’t do it,’ ‘there’s no REASON for her to do it,’ ‘don’t worry about it.’_

How wrong he was.

He’d known from day one. It was an unknown skill of the entertainment robot, but he has always been able to tell if someone is depressed or not. It was something he picked up after living with his melancholy cousin for years, being able to identify the symptoms. He could’ve stopped this. _He could’ve stopped this._ If only he arrived a little earlier, if only he decided to look for her _before_ making his rounds through the Underground, if only he sat her down and said they needed to talk about something serious.

If only he’d _done something._

His subjects must be worried about him, they might be looking for him; the King going through the Underground then vanishing for a while. Tensions were still high, and paranoia swept across the monsters, they could all well believe their new king had died, and so shortly after his takeover, too. But that thought never crossed Mettaton’s mind, as he knelt there, clutching that letter, that short letter that said so much, that reminded him that he could have done something. Finally, finally he got up, a wide, forced smile plastered on his face.

“Alphys, darling?” he called out, as if she was in the next room over, folding the letter and putting it in his pocket. He grabbed a little jar and began sweeping the dust into it with his bare hand. “You really need to keep your surroundings cleaner, it’s so _d-dusty_ in here!” He sighed, and chuckled weakly. “I have a kingdom to run, my dear, I can’t always help you… but since you asked so nicely, I’ll feed your…. experiments…..”

And King Mettaton of the Underground briskly walked away to find some food for all that remained of his only friend, requiring more effort to appear confident and not let his head drop due to his crown’s weight, but keeping that smile he always had plastered on his face.


End file.
